


wavering in the new york night (never see the day)

by howyousay_anarchy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Oops, and then porn, pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howyousay_anarchy/pseuds/howyousay_anarchy
Summary: "Have you thought of us?” Asked Jack one night, staring at the shining Stanley Cup in his visions. "Have you thought about us somewhere else, maybe after?”"What after?” Said Kenny, because he knew what Jack was talking about, and there was no running from that. His eyes were hard and glittering. “There is no after.”





	wavering in the new york night (never see the day)

**wavering in the new york night (never see the day)**

“Have you thought of us?” Asked Jack one night, staring at the shining Stanley Cup in his visions, and feeling an oncoming migraine about the things that might come, after. It was dark outside, just past the peak of dawn. Kent was next to him. “Have you thought about us somewhere else, sometime else?”

  
“Why? You think I could be your sex slave or some shit in an alternate universe? Hands bound and mouth held?” Kenny retorted, snorting, because he was good at getting the rises out of Jack. It was hard not to let his imagination run away from him at that.

  
“No,” Jack cleared his throat. “I think I meant, after.”

  
“What after?” Said Kenny, because he knew what Jack was talking about, and there was no running from that. His eyes were hard and glittering. “There is no after.”

  
Jack stared.

  
“You think there's an after for us, Zimms?” Kent laughed, looking young, and then impossibly old. He did not meet Jack’s eyes. “What do you want in your after, Jacky boy? More pills? Or is it fucking alcohol, huh? Get you buzzed so much everyday that you won't ever have to think again. Nothing will have to exist apart from your own head, Zimms, don't you want that? Nothing, and no one, and--”

  
“Shut up.” Jack shoved him into the sharp wooden corners of the bottom of the bed frame, thinking to hurt. “Shut the fuck up.”

  
Kent made a startled, wounded noise, like a limping deer on a highway, and then laughed again mirthlessly. Jack didn't check to see if he was actually hurt.

  
“Zimms, c’mon, you know I don't mean it." Except Jack knew it was probably the first thing he had meant in days, so he let himself boil.

  
“Yes, you did.”

  
Kent shrugged from where he slumped against the bottom of the bed, his shoulders shifting beneath his shirt, collar bones appearing for a mere glimpse. “What does it matter?”

  
“Nothing,” answered Jack, feeling cheated. “It doesn't matter at all.”

  
Parse hooked his ankles around Jack’s legs, then. Unbalanceing them both delicately in the only way that he knows. Playfully, coquettishly, he curved a hand around the top of Jack’s thigh and held on tight.

  
“At all?” He murmured without any inflection, his eyelashes casually fluttering like he didn't know that he was challenging the whole universe. Jack felt his world stop.

  
After a second, his throat clicked shut with a dry sound which resounded in the hotel room, something deep inside him trembling, and everything started moving again. Kent dug a hand straight into his pants, smug that Jack was hard already, smug that Jack would maybe possibly always be hard for him. “Of course it matters to you, Zimms, of course, of course it fucking would--”

  
He took Jack out from his pants and underwear hurriedly, tugging at zippers and waistbands and not knowing to not use his nails too hard. And then he sank into his knees, graceful and fluid, like he had done a thousand times before.

  
Jack wondered if he could make sure that he does it again, later.

  
“You wanna shut me up?” Murmured Kent, looking up from where he knelt, ghosting his hand over Jack, all warm and cruel. “D’you want this? I know you do, Zimms--fuck, you ever want to fuck my mouth, just like this? Push me onto my knees and hold me here--”

  
He keened as Jack pushed his hands into his hair, too afraid to pull as hard as he actually wanted. “Hands,” gasped Jack. “Hands at your back.”

  
Kent followed, sounding speechless for a second. “Jesus--hold me and keep me here, Zimms? Please, please, come on--”

  
Jack didn't mean to inhale sharply or to fuck closer towards Kenny’s and his terribly reassuring heat, but he did, and Kenny’s other hand tightened painfully on his hips. The teasing fingers were gone, and Kent’s mouth replaced them. There will be bruises tomorrow, he thought, and he shivered, feeling Kenny’s mouth gasp around him, taking him tighter and tighter and tighter still.

  
After a while, he stopped hearing Kent talk, and when he realized that it was only because he had been fucking straight into Parse’s mouth to shut him up, Jack’s eyes went rolling into the back of his head, anger forgotten.

  
“There you go, Kenny,” he moaned, staring at the ceiling and then bouncing his head right up because he couldn't miss this, couldn't miss Kenny around his cock like this, taken and taking at the exact same time. “ _Crisse_ , you take it so well, so good--so good for me--”

  
He wanted a picture of Kent’s swollen, red lips, of his spit and his precum, leaking out the perfect wet seal of his mouth. He wanted a picture of Kent’s eyes, because right then, right there, they looked grounded and sharp in a way that Kenny had never been, even though the rest of him looked like a mess. He wanted it--wanted all of it--so badly, that his throat started hurting, and his eyes clouded up.

  
Before he realized it, Kent had moved away from his cock, which was still painfully hard and leaking. There was a spurt of white around his mouth, his pouting lips. Without thinking about it, Jack moved a trembling hand towards Kenny--still on the ground and oh so solid with his hands held where Jack had told him to hold them--and chokes down a sob as his thumb smeared across the precome and spit on Parse’s lips.

  
“Crisse, Kenny--” with his other hand, Jack fisted Kent’s hair and, not knowing in which direction to go, just pulled.

  
Kent’s eyes dilated, the pupils enveloping his now green irises, and he took some labored breaths against the curve of Jack’s hip before he seemed to trust himself to look up again. “Zimms,” he whined, “Zimms, you can't do this to me--you can't, I won't let you--fuuck, please do that again, please, Jack--! I need-- God, I need you to do this, for fucking ever-- fuck...”

  
Absently twitching his thumb against the side of Parse’s mouth, Jack came. He didn't expect it, but it got wrenched out of him, and he rode out the climax while the aftershocks made him tremble against Kenny’s shocked face.

  
When he opened his eyes, Kenny was on the floor still, hands still at his back, looking with widened eyes and trembling chest up at Jack, There’s come on his mouth and his chest--fuck, it went all over him.

  
“Zimms,” he begged, and nothing else: just a litany of Jack’s name and the shivers that racked through both of them.

  
“ _Tabernak_ , so good, Kenny." Jack felt woozy, but he tugged Parse up from his position and jerked him off, quick and furious, feeling as Kent’s blood pumped through his hands. It was so strange and so human, what they were doing, and it invoked something giddy in Jack to know that Kenny was before him and whimpering and breathless and alive, even if Jack wasn’t. God, he felt--he felt tired, and strangely invincible.

  
Kent hadn’t come yet, but he was a mess around his waist, and he shouldered them both onto the bed.

  
“Can you--” Jack felt himself talking as his thumb stroked the slit of Parse’s dick. “Can you stay here for me, keep-- _Crisse_ , so good, you're so good for me--”

  
Parse arched into to his voice and his hands, his entire body shuddering and twitching as Jack held him down. He looked like such a mess: he looked like Jack’s come spread against his lips; he looked like wild hair fisted into Jack’s hands; he looked like overstimulated body writhing against the expensive bed sheets, and all Jack could think about was that afterwards, they would take a good shower, to clean themselves up. Sleep for a while, curled around each other.

  
“Jack,” he whimpered. “Jack, Jack, let me come--let me… ah--!”

  
Jack carded his hands through his hair, letting his nails dig, just a bit. “Come on, Kenny, now, come for me, there you go…”

  
\--And he watched as Kent Parson dissolved under his hands, hips pulsing against his arms as he coated himself in come. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, sated. Jack felt himself shiver again, his own fingers stroking at Kenny’s hips and legs and cheeks.

  
Then, they breathed, slow and careful, watching the skylight as they tried to stop feeling temporary and lost.

  
“I want a cat,” Parse interrupted, his eyes still closed and face placid.

  
“What?”

  
“I want a cat, maybe. I've always wanted one.” Parse repeated, something stubborn about him.

  
“Oh,” said Jack, then: “Oh. You mean--”

  
“Yes, I mean maybe.” Kent cleared his throat. “Maybe later. Maybe after.”

  
“Oh,” Jack repeated. He watched as the first rays of sunrise peek out from the skyscrapers and business buildings around them. Just twenty minutes ago, this moment had been tomorrow, later, after. He grappled at his own body, and found that he was still terrified and empty at the thought of “later,” but just a little bit less so, now.

  
“Come on,” Kent poked his hair into Jack’s chest and winded his arms around Jack’s waist, sounding exhausted. “Shower now. Stare later.”

  
Jack took his hand, warm and solid, and took them both to the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah? We love Kit Purrson??


End file.
